


Connor Kenway appreciation week

by nishiki



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Connor Kenway appreciation week, Connor Kenway positivity week, Connor and kids, Connor being a cute husband, Different AUs, F/M, Gen, Haytham being a sweet dad, Modern AU, after canon, kid!Connor, lots of fluff, templar connor AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:02:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: This is a collection of short stories for the Connor positivity week on tumblr, containing different AUs and each focusing on a positive trait of Connor.





	1. Day 1 - Mrs. Taylor's little helper

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter belongs into the blood and cross / Templar Connor AU. You can find the whole fic here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6597841/chapters/15093784

To her, it was amazing how different a father and his son could be in certain situations. Mrs. Anne Taylor had had four years of time by now to see the young Mr. Kenway grow from an awkward and lanky teenager into a man. Oh, and what a man he had become by now. Susie usually swooned over his appearance whenever she - by accident - caught him half-undressed. Connor, the son of their master, did not seem to notice that those _accidents_ , in which Susie would sometimes burst into his room when he was changing, were no accidents at all still. He only would get flustered and nervous and Susie would be giddy the rest of the day. Susie, on the other hand, had this remarkable talent of never being there when needed - just as it was the case now. Only two days ago, Mrs. Taylor had managed to injure her left ankle and already the work she had to do all alone without that stupid girl was piling up without the hope of being manageable with an injury like that. Susie had gone to see her parents in New York and she was not expected to be back before the end of the week.

Still, Mrs. Taylor knew how lucky she could deem herself with an employer such as Haytham Kenway, who was gone quite a lot anyway and who was never too strict when something might not be in order. But even though Mr. Kenway would sometimes turn a blind eye to certain dilemmas of his employees, he was a man who valued order and stability and as this morning came, Anne Taylor for the first time since she started working for Mr. Kenway, did not know what to do any longer. In her kitchen, the work was piling up on the table. She had laundry to wash and hand up in the yard. She had floors to scrub and meals to cook and all this by herself! Even with two pairs of hands it sometimes was hard to keep up with the work, but with Susie gone and her being impaired by her injured ankle it was impossible.

On this particular day, it became clear to her how different the young Mr. Kenway was from his father truly. If her employer would have noticed or if she would have asked him for help, he would have hired someone from the streets to help her - but only under protest and only because he wanted an orderly home and not because he really wanted to support her. His son, however, young Mr. Connor Kenway came down into the kitchen this morning to find her exhausted over the laundry and instead of going out to find a help, he rolled up his sleeve (one sleeve only because his right arm was still bound to his body by a sling after that horrible situation when he had been falsely imprisoned in New York a short while ago) as best he could with his very own impairment and started helping her himself.

He said he could need the distraction and even though Anne Taylor usually had not much time to talk to the men of the house, she had grown more and more aware that the young Sir had things on his mind that were greatly bothering him for quite some time now. So, after a little protest, she had decided to let him help and she was indeed amazed by the ferocity with which the young nobleman was scrubbing the floorboards or the stairs. With his father out on some journey again he seemed to be in the dire need of getting rid of the stress he was carrying on his shoulders as of late.

It was already nightfall when Anne Taylor was finished with her work, finally finished after she had not been able to say that for days now. The kitchen smelled of fresh cooked pumpkin soup and she had not seen the young Kenway lad for a few hours by now. Last time she had seen him was when he had taken the dried laundry from the washing line in the yard and vanished into the sitting room with the basket full of washed clothes and bed sheets. She had only called after him that he needed to rest and should not tire himself out too much, but he had not even reacted to that.

With a gentle sigh and a small smile playing on her face, she poured soup into a bowl and placed the bowl on a small tray. When his father was out of the house the young man liked to eat by the fire in the sitting room and though normally she would not have agreed to that, now she carefully walked towards the door of the sitting room instead. She thought about her own sons and how they would have never even thought about helping their mother in such a way. It was not because they were ungrateful or did not care, it was just because it was not the way they had been brought up and that was true for most men.

As she now stepped into the sitting room, however, she found herself chuckling in earnest as she found the young Mr. Kenway face down in the pile of freshly washed linen, fast asleep after this day of hard women’s work.


	2. Day 2 - Gentle Giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story belongs in the When the world is burning series / modern AU. You can find the whole series here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/201803

He found Sef crying in the closet on a bright summer’s day. Sef was only three years old and finding him crying somewhere around the house, was nothing new. Sef always found a reason to cry about something - but mostly it was because of Darim, his oldest brother. At first, Connor had not even realized what the sound that he had heard after he had entered his brother’s house was initially, but after he had started to follow that strange wailing sound, which almost sounded like the mating call of a blue whale, he could hardly suppress a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. As he had entered the house, Darim and Tazim had nearly thrown him off his feet as they had run outside without even noticing him and it did not cost Connor much to figure out that Darim had done something again to make Sef cry.

As he came to a halt in front of the closet he could not fight off the memories that came crashing back down on him. Oh, how many times had he been hiding in a closet in their house when he had been a child Sef’s age because his big brother Altair had been mean to him?

As he opened the closet door he needed to shove the coats and jackets out of the way first to find the three-year-old boy between the clothes with ruffled hair and blotched wet cheeks. With every day Sef looked more and more like his father and suddenly Connor found himself in the very odd situation his mother had mostly found herself in when she had found him bawling his eyes out in the closet. Sef did not look too pleased to be disturbed and his cheeks only became redder as Connor looked at him. He had never been good with comforting someone with words. When people around him cried he never quite knew what to do. He was not good with words, that was Altair’s or even Ezio’s domain. He did not want to ask the little one what was wrong, because it seemed obvious, as he finally spotted the blood on his knee, just below the seam of his shorts. It was a nice summer day and surely baby Sef had wanted to keep up with his brothers while his fathers were inside tidying the house like they did every Sunday. He fell, hurt his knee, started crying and - knowing Darim - Darim started laughing.

A moment passed with Sef sniffing quietly between the clothes, but then Connor shoved them even further apart before he squeezed into the narrow closet. “Would you mind if I join you?” He asked with the most serious expression he was able to muster at the moment but needed to lift Sef into his lap anyway, as he sat down. There was no way the door of the closet could be closed now anymore, but it did not matter. Connor just leaned back against the wooden wall of the closet and pulled Sef close, his feet lying outside on the floorboards. Like this, they sat for what felt like an eternity until Sef finally stopped sniffing and sobbing and when he did, he had fallen asleep already.


	3. Day 3 - Leader of the pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story belongs in the crippled / modern AU. You can find the entire story here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4006915/chapters/9001300

He did not know how it happened. It just did. All had started as he had moved to Germany to gather a few years of work experience outside of Britain - mainly because his grandfather liked to buy him into jobs and make his life way too easy. Being in Germany had not been easy at first, not because of the language barrier because he had already started learning German before he went to the country, but because he did not know anyone except for his family in Cologne and he, most certainly, could not always bother them when he would start feeling lonely. Then again Connor had never been one too fond of people being around him all the time. He liked working with people, but he valued the time he had to himself too. And yet after just a few weeks in Germany, he had felt lonely and so he had gotten a dog from a shelter, a lovely German shepherd puppy. He should have known that this would be the beginning of the end for him.

As this evening arrived, Connor was glad to escape the facility he was working in. Not because he would not like his work or his co-workers, but just because it had been such a long and exhausting day. It always was a long and exhausting day when his cousin would stop by to get his treatment. Altair had always been a pain in the ass, even when he had been little, but since he was sitting in that wheelchair he was god-awful to be around. Yet Connor always did his best to not let it show.

Maybe that was the wrong approach; he mused as he walked down the street and noticed the dog that was carefully following him. He had seen the dog this morning already, lurking near the practice, but he tried to ignore it for another moment.

Malik’s approach of handling Altair was quite different. He was rough to him and said what he was thinking, but then again they had been a couple and there probably was not a single person in the whole entire universe who knew Altair as good as Malik did. Connor would never be able to talk to his cousin like Malik always did. He was just not the type, he guessed.

The dog followed him across the road, still keeping its distance, but close enough so he would not lose him. This morning Connor had thought it was just some random dog rummaging the neighborhood, but now he was certain that it really was trying to follow him. He hadn’t had much time to look at it thoroughly by now, but he still thought the dog must belong to someone. After a while he grew tired of this and stopped behind a corner, waiting for the dog to reach him. They were near the big playground of this neighborhood now and Connor’s house was not too far away either. He liked living close to his work because it sometimes got late whenever they got emergency patients and since most of his co-workers were women and lived not too close by, Connor usually volunteered to stay. It was not as if someone would wait for him at home anyway, right? Well… that was not entirely true, he guessed. But those ladies had families and boyfriends to come home to.

The dog nearly bumped into him as it came rushing around the corner and when it noticed Connor having stopped it wanted to take off running again, but Connor was quick to grab the dog as he crouched down. It was a beautiful golden retriever with dirty fur and big brown eyes. Connor had always had a soft spot for these dogs - mainly because he reminded him of his grandfather somehow. The dog did not try to escape after Connor had gently grabbed its neck and came down to him so that they were on eye level. Of course, it was not wise to grab a dog like this or come so close to a dog that wasn’t his, but this race was usually quite peaceful and Connor doubted that it would attack him. They dog quietly whimpered but relaxed as Connor began patting its head carefully. “So where do you belong to, girl?” He murmured. Once he was close it was not hard to tell the gender of that dog of course, but it only whimpered again. There was no collar and no tags either. “Are you lost?”  Surely the dog must belong to someone! Surely she had just escaped or got lost or something like that. Maybe her owners even got in an accident and she had run off to find help? Well, more plausible would be the theory that someone had tried to get rid of her and that quite a while ago, judging by how dirty her fur looked. He sighed quietly. “Do you want to come with me?”

It was almost midnight when he was finished washing the dog. He had decided to name her Lizzy because she looked like a Lizzy. Bathing a dog was sometimes hard - all depending on the dog. Lizzy was seemingly grateful for the bath she got and the treatment Connor gave her and yet it took a lot of time to clean her up and treat all the small little injuries she had on her body. Some of them she had maybe given to herself, but some of them looked as if she had been cut by something - maybe barbwire. She looked healthy, but of course, he would bring her to the Vet the next day.

And yet, as he finally left the bathroom with Lizzy the dog rubbed her head against his thigh in thanks. “So I guess it’s time you meet the rest of the pack.” He chuckled before he opened the door to the living room and saw how eight furry heads lifted all at once. Well, what difference would it make if he would feed nine dogs from now on instead of eight?


	4. Day 4 - Under his wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story belongs in the When the world is burning - little Wolf series / modern AU. You can find the story here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3599463/chapters/7939926

It really started out slow. Not like a tornado coming over the land and ripping everything apart, no. It was more like a creeping sensation that slowly, but thoroughly started to manifest in Haytham’s brain. He had noticed that his son was coming home later from University each day and progressively later as the days went by. At first, he thought nothing of it, after all, medicine was a very demanding field of study, even though his insolent son had already decided on becoming a Vet and not a _real_ doctor. He thought that Connor surely just needed to stay longer at University each day because he needed to discuss things with his fellow students and professors. But somehow he could not get rid of the sensation that there was something else entirely going on with Connor.

“Maybe he has a girlfriend and didn’t want to tell you yet?” His father had very helpfully supplied one evening as they had spoken on the phone. Until this day Haytham cursed himself for his little offhand remark of Connor coming home unusually late. One could say that yes, Connor was a young adult, barely out of his teens and that young people liked to go out and party and rarely stuck to a certain routine for the day. Connor was different however and Haytham was very aware of that. Of course, it was in the realm of possibilities that his son had a girlfriend who he was secretly meeting after school, but there was still Aveline, whom he fancied for a few years now. His son was no one to _flip-flop_ and usually stuck with a person after he decided that he liked them. He was very loyal and until now Haytham had never had a reason to suspect his son having fallen for another girl.

There was something different going on, he was certain and yet he could not even figure out what it was or what it possibly could be.

Of course, he tried asking his son at one point during breakfast. After he had laid down his newspaper in a fashion that clearly spoke of the nature of the conversation that would follow, Connor had practically fled the house with a brash answer of him just needing to help some of his fellow students after classes. Weird, how he suddenly needed to do that, but though a part of Haytham wanted to believe Connor, thinking that maybe yes, classes got harder and students started to work harder too, the louder part of his brain decided that, no, Connor was lying.

He was not lying as it later turned out.

Haytham was none to follow people around or to spy on people. He asked when he wanted to know something and he would ask louder until he would get the answer he had wanted to hear in the first place. That was simply who he was and he managed quite good in his life with this attitude but not with his stubborn son. Well, to no surprise as his father would have told him. They were both fire signs and Connor was a master when it came to channel his inner ram in times when he needed to fight his father.

Yet he found himself in this very strange situation, sitting in his car near the campus - but far enough away so that Connor would not notice the car immediately. Usually, his son would take the bus that stopped right in front of the campus. Haytham rarely drove himself to be quite honest. He had, after all, employees to do the driving (and cooking, and cleaning, and shopping), but today he thought it was best to do this alone - mainly because he did not wish to explain this situation to anyone. He was, after all, somewhat stalking his own child. Well, he still got the excuse of Altair sitting in his neck all the time, if anyone would ask. Only this morning the young man had called him to hear if Connor was alright because his little brother had not called him back last night. So - if anything - he was doing this for Altair and his mental health.

Connor was leaving the University on time, just as he normally would - because, of course, Haytham had a schedule of his son and knew when his classes would end. He had not gotten it from Connor though. The boy did not need to know these things. He could see Connor in the distance as he walked down the path between the various faculty buildings. It was dark already. After all, it was already November and Connor’s last class ended around seventeen PM. They days had grown shorter and shorter without Haytham even noticing it. He could only make out that it was indeed Connor walking down the path because he had seen his face clearly in the light of the streetlamps that had been set up along the paths for safety reasons.

He was not alone, though.

There was a girl clinging to Connor’s left arm and by the looks of it, she was cheerfully chatting along at Connor’s side. His son, however, looked clearly flustered - as he usually did when he was touched by strangers. Normally he would not let anyone touch him. Aveline would not be too pleased with these latest developments. And truly, he was not either. He had deemed his son to be more loyal, to be more mature to not fall for the first cheeky blonde college girl he would meet in Uni. He felt a little surprised, maybe even hurt, that his son would act like that - and maybe even that his son would not even tell him about his new girlfriend.

He was getting out of the car as Connor and the blonde girl left the campus and came closer towards the car. To his surprise, they started to head left and not right towards the bus stop. “Connor!” He exclaimed to catch his son’s attention and he did not fail to do so as Connor whirled around on the spot. The girl however just looked at the car and the man beside the car in surprise and then at Connor.

“Dad! What are you doing here?” Connor shot back at him and though it was really hard to tell in the dim light around them, he knew that his son’s face had turned a bright red color.

“Well, I had an appointment nearby and thought why not pick up my son? After all, you come home so late lately that we hardly ever get the chance to properly talk. I thought you might enjoy dinner with your old man in this Italian restaurant you came to like the other day.”

“That’s your father?” He heard the girl turn to Connor and suppressed a little grin. Sometimes he enjoyed seeing his son mortified and he felt as though he had missed out on a whole lot of fun as a parent when it came to something so simple as to embarrass one’s child in public.

“You can bring along your new girlfriend too if she’d like.”

As the young girl started to laugh as if he had made an especially funny joke, Connor was not the only one mortified. The car ride to the Italian restaurant was especially quiet this day. Even dinner was. Connor did not speak a single word to him as they ate, not even while Haytham started a conversation and decided to keep it going simply because he had never had such a fruitful conversation with his son before. Had he known his son was so cooperative after having been embarrassed in front of one of his fellow students he had done so long ago. Only when they were on their way home, Connor broke his vow of silence to speak to him again and break the conversation Haytham had with himself - which was a shame, after it had been such an interesting one.

“You really thought I would cheat on Aveline?” Now his son was the one who sounded deeply angry and hurt that his father thought him even capable of something like this. Haytham, however, kept his attention fixated on the road ahead of them.

“What was I supposed to think? You came home later than you normally do. You would not talk to me about the reasons for that and then I see you with a girl like this. So, if you were not cheating on Aveline, then what the bloody hell have you been doing with that girl?”

“I was escorting her.” Connor mumbled into his nonexistent beard and slumped deeper into his seat as if he wished to vanish or be eaten by the thing.

“You what?”

“You heard me alright, old man or are you already becoming deaf? I said I was escorting her! It’s dark when we are done with our course and she needs to take the subway to get home to her boyfriend. But she would need to get through quite a bad street to get to the subway station so I volunteered to escort her. A month ago another student was robbed on his way to the subway and Ginny is a friend of mine. Sometimes I go with her and her girlfriends. They say they feel safer when I’m around. ‘Don’t know why, though.”

It probably was the first time since this debacle had started that Haytham just wanted to laugh and bite in his steering wheel.


	5. Day 5 - Compassion is key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after AC3

Stephane Chapeau was the first to remark it in Connor’s presence. He had noticed that he was getting slower lately. Sure thing, he was getting older and he was not a blood young man any longer. Surely, that was the reason why he was staring to get a bit slower and exhausted faster than he was used to.

He had turned thirty last April, so, he decided, he was allowed to get a bit slower now. There was no reason to keep up with his old self all those years ago now anyway, was there? The Templar threat in the colonies was over for a few years now, but of course, there was more than enough work to do for him and his fellow Assassins even without the Templars around.

When he had turned thirty, his wife, Temperance, had announced that she was pregnant, and even though this had been the best news he had ever received in his entire life, he had found himself deep in thought later that day. He had not looked at his father’s diary in years after he first read it, but on that night he had once again looked into it.

When his father had turned thirty, he had been an expecting father as well – even though he had not known about it. It was weird how things sometimes turned out. 1755 had been the year when his father had left the colonies and in the spring of the next year, Connor had been born.  His child would be born in December, just like his father. Maybe, a part of him still wondered, as he was doing his daily workout in the back of the homestead on this sunny morning in July, his father would watch over his grandchild when it was born. His wife wanted to believe that coincidences like this one did not happen without reason and Connor was ready to follow her in that belief. It was a beautiful thought and since he had learned about his impending fatherhood, he started to feel calmer with each day, as if the fires of his youth were slowly but surely dying off. He could settle down now, he felt. He could sit back and focus on the homestead, on his friends and family, he could be the Mentor the others deserved.

“You are getting a bit fat.”

Almost Connor pulled a nerve as Stephane directed this rude comment at him out of the blue, although it took Connor a moment to realize that it was indeed directed at him and as he turned around to face one of his recruits, Stephane leaned against one of the columns of the back porch and was wearing a sly little smile on his face.

“Pardon?” Connor found himself mumbling as he turned around fully, almost forgetting about his work out entirely. It had been quiet for a while and they had a little time to relax as it seemed. Though Connor was aware that it was only a matter of time until they were needed once more and in addition to that it was Connor’s duty to let the brotherhood grow again to its old strength. Still, he found himself worrying about the situation in France and sometimes he wondered if he should follow the call of his brothers and sisters in Europe to help. Temperance did not know about those thoughts, of course, and if she would ever learn of them, she would maybe try to hit him with one of her iron pans.

Stephan wiggled his left eyebrow as he pointed with one of the kitchen knives he had stolen from the house in the direction of Connor’s stomach. “You are getting fat, Mentor.” He repeated with a grin and not even Connor’s frown made him take back that comment.

“It seems your eyesight is getting worse, my friend. I can assure you that I have not gained any weight whatsoever.”

“Your coat seems a bit tighter than it used to be.” Stephane continued but at least he was wise enough to stay far away from his Mentor.

“Well, perhaps I just put on a bit more muscle then? Did you think about that possibility, dear friend? I mean not every last one of us can be as stick thin as you.” The insult was not rewarded with shock or outrage, but only with laughter as Stephane turned around and walked back into the house to leave Connor alone with his morning workout.

“Fat, he said.” He later mumbled as he took off his white and blue coat. It was almost insane how long he had worn this thing already. Poor Ellen had already stitched his coat back together numerous of times during the years because Connor simply had not the patience for it.

“Well, maybe you put on a bit of weight.” The voice of his wife sounded sleepily from the bed and as Connor turned to face her she did her best to look as innocent as possible, placing one hand on her growing belly in that very gesture that always made her husband’s heart melt. She was devilishly intelligent sometimes.

“I have not.” Connor frowned before he sat down heavily on his side of the bed.

“You see, honey, I didn’t want to tell you but-”

“What?”

“Last time Ellen repaired your coat, she made it a bit wider too.”

“That does not proof anything. I have not put on weight.” And he would never lay off his stubbornness. Temperance only rewarded him with a faint little chuckle, but it seemed she would not dwell on the topic for much longer and thus Connor decided he had won this discussion about his weight.

It turned out that he had not the next day when he noticed his recruits whispering behind his back and Patience Gibbs giggling as she and Stephane were poking their heads together. In the following days, he felt as though everyone around him was watching him more closely than they usually did and not only once he got to hear a little remark from his friends. It seemed since Stephane had first said it, a veil had been lifted and now everyone was bombarding him with remarks about his physique, so much in fact that his wife started to find great amusement in his pouting about it.

Fat, he thought. Yes, maybe his coat was a little tighter than it used to be. He sometimes felt it did not fit him right anymore, but that was not because he had put on weight! He had just grown a bit in muscles and that was it. His training was more intense than it used to be and surely that too was the reason why he was getting slower. But he most certainly was not getting fat. “You are.” His wife finally agreed by the end of the week with a little laugh before she focused back on her needlework, in which Connor had interrupted her stomping into the sitting room like a bull. Not even his wife was having his back anymore it seemed.

It was this night that he found himself in front of their bedroom mirror. Temperance was fast asleep already with her long blonde hair oozing like liquid gold over her pillow. It was moments like these when Connor wound himself wondering what their children might look like. Temperance was the sole opposite of him. She was delicate in build, with beautiful long blonde hair and bright blue eyes and he had much darker skin than her, black hair and dark eyes. Would his children turn out to look like him or would they look like their mother? He knew that his own grandfather had had blonde hair and blue eyes as well and he could only wonder if that would have any effect on his children. But when he turned back to the mirror and looked a little more closely at his own reflection – something he not often found the time to do anyway – he noticed the little pouch that was once his flat stomach. Maybe, he thought as he was tugging lightly at the little extra fat, just maybe, his friends were right.

“I’ve heard,” Temperance voice suddenly came from the bed and through the mirror Connor saw how she had turned around in bed to face him, not asleep at all. “that expecting fathers sometimes too put on a little weight during the pregnancy of their wives.”

Connor snorted, but he was quick to venture back into his bed again and to pull the blanket over his body. “And why should that be a thing? I never heard this before.”

Temperance giggled quietly as she scurried closer and out of habit maybe Connor wrapped his left arm around his wife and enjoyed the feeling of how she slowly rested her head on his chest and put one hand on his stomach as if to tease him further. “It’s because you are so compassionate, darling. I should have known that this was going to happen. I would guess … You are three months pregnant by now.”

For once since this started, Connor found himself laughing, before he gently pinched her in the upper arm to make her jerk a little. “It’s your fault then that I got out of shape.”


	6. Day 6 - When life gives you lemons...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> modern au

Haytham Kenway was for once speechless. This, most certainly was a condition he not often experienced in his daily life. He was never short of a witty retort or a snarky little answer. He rarely found himself in a situation where he really did not know what to make of it, but since Connor was part of his life, his seven-year-old son, his life and the world around him hardly was the same as before.

Now, people might say that this was only normal when one had a child, but to Haytham that was hardly a satisfying explanation for everything that was going wrong since Connor joined him in his household.

Of course, the death of his mother had stricken the boy hard with grief before he came to Britain to live with his absent father, but that was already over a year ago and Haytham apparently had made the grave mistake to think that he and Connor had, by now, solved all their issues that they had had in the beginning. It seemed he had been wrong - or at least he was still not quite able to figure out what was going on in his son’s mind at times.

“Pray tell what you’re doing there, son?” Haytham sighed as he leaned against the doorframe of his kitchen and watched in awe the mess Connor had made. Apparently, it only took a knife and a few lemons for Connor to cause havoc.

“What does it look like?” Connor replied as he shortly looked at him, before he focused on his task once more, his tongue clamped between his lips as he concentrated on cutting another lemon in half. Outside the sun was shining brightly and usually at such a nice sunny Saturday his son would already be out and about doing something outside, maybe even running up to his grandfather’s house further down the road to get Thatch, the dog, for a walk in the nearby forest.

“It looks like you are making a mess out of my kitchen. I remember that I left it clean after breakfast.”

“I’m not making a mess, Dad!” For a seven-year-old boy his son was quite big mouthy, but only ever around his father. Haytham’s own father had told him once, that this was a good sign - a sign that his son trusted him enough to show his true colors. Haytham however, did find it quite annoying.

“Then what are you doing?” He could feel himself grow impatient already. Why in the world had his son to be so difficult sometimes? Why could he not just answer a single question?

“I’m making lemonade!”

It turned out his son had had the plan to sell lemonade in their neighborhood. Apparently, that was a thing over in the US. Haytham could not really remember that kids would have done something like this during his childhood, but of course, his son was unconvinced by this statement as he later built up a makeshift little booth with a sign that he apparently had already prepared yesterday. He had made enough Lemonade for them to drink for a few days, with as much sugar as it would take to make a whole family high on the sweet stuff. Haytham hated lemonade and he was not very fond of the idea of having his son ate sweets as much, but no matter what he said or did or tried, in the end, Connor took his place at his little booth and waited for his first customer.

As the afternoon arrived, not one customer had come to him - with exception of his grandpa and the dog of course, but a Connor said himself, his grandpa would not count as a customer.

Haytham watched the insolent child from his office upstairs. The window next to his desk allowed him to have a look down on the street in front of his house where Connor still sat and waited. Well, the boy had determination, that was true. But the day ended and no one except his grandpa had bought a cup of lemonade from him.

As Haytham later lay down in bed, he thought that this whole idea of his son selling lemonade was over after this fiasco, but as soon as the next day arrived he had to accept that it was not. Right after breakfast his son already built up his booth again and sat down behind it on a small stool. This day, Sunday went the same as the Saturday before. Of course, people walked past little Connor and his lemonade booth, but no one really stopped to buy anything. Haytham watched from the office how some of their neighbors stopped by and talked to Connor, and a tiny part of him hoped that maybe one of them would even buy something so that this whole thing could find its end finally, but they did not and Haytham found himself being a little mad at them. After all, his neighbors were adults and he thought if they stopped to talk to Connor about his booth, well, couldn’t they sacrifice fifty cents for a cup of lemonade to encourage him?

But then again, did Haytham even want that his neighbors would encourage the boy? He wanted Connor to stop that ridiculousness and he would not if someone would encourage him in buying something from him. From the window, he could see how Connor grew more and more frustrated, but Haytham stayed where he was the entire day, thinking that Connor would probably just give up when this day would end like the one before.

He did not.

Even as he had made no money on this day too, Connor would set up his booth again on the next day, instead of enjoying his summer holidays as he used to.

“May I ask what this is about?” Haytham finally found himself asking as he stepped outside to his son and grabbed one of the plastic cups to sip on the self-made lemonade as if it was the most normal thing he could do. Oh, he was very well aware of the daggers Connor glared at him at this thievery.

“Fifty cents, _please_.” Connor growled and outstretched his small hand in the universal gesture of someone demanding money from someone.

“You are aware that _I_ bought the lemons for this lemonade, yes?”

“Dad!”

“And you are aware that you wasted two bags of _my_ sugar on this?”

“Dad that unfair!” Connor chirped clearly flustered.

“You know what’s unfair, Connor? When someone _steals_ lemons, sugar, and water from their own father without paying anything for it.”

“Oh, please, Dad! Grandpa would never make such a fuss. Next time I will go to him to make lemonade…”

“Yes, please do so. Until you won’t say why you are sitting here and try to sell lemonade, you are forbidden to even touch a lemon in my house.” Connor pressed his mouth shut instead of granting his father an answer, and though Haytham felt quite annoyed by his son’s stubbornness, he somewhat enjoyed seeing him disgruntled as he was now. Maybe this was one of the few joys a father had: tormenting his children like this.

The following days kept the same routine. Haytham would leave for work, knowing that his son would be watched by his grandfather only to come back home and see Connor once more sitting in their driveway trying to sell lemonade. Of course, his son rather pouted instead of talking to him when Haytham would greet him, but Haytham thought that Connor had to break his silence at one point and that he, clearly, was the more patient of them. He was wrong, apparently.

As the first week ended, Haytham had enough. It was an enigma to him why in the world his son would sit every day out there, trying to sell way too sweet lemonade that obviously no one wanted to buy. “I give him more than enough pocket money.” He grunted as he leaned against one of the counters in his father’s kitchen. He could hear Connor playing with Thatch in the living room while some football game was playing on TV. “Really, father, I do not understand what is wrong that he thinks he has to do that. He can buy anything he likes with his pocket money, or at least he should be able to if he saves it. He is seven! What in the world could he want to buy that would demand him to sell lemonade?”

“Do you remember what you told Connor as he asked you if he could get a dog a few weeks ago?” His father hummed as he stirred in the pan. Haytham had long given up trying to find out what in the world his father was trying to cook. It did not matter, he guessed. They surely would not die from his father’s creations.

“Yes?” Haytham replied, but now, thinking back, he really had no clue. Yes, he remembered that Connor had asked him for a dog, that he had pestered him about it even, but what did he say?

“You told him, he would get one if he would manage to pay half of the money he would need for the dog.” Edward repeated with a small grin as if he was very well aware that his own son had no clue at all about this whole dilemma and suddenly Haytham was finally able to see what was going on in his son’s mind. “He already is saving all his pocket money every week. Your son is determined to get this dog.”

For once Haytham was not sure if he wanted to laugh about it or groan in frustration. Well, Connor wanted a companion and he could understand this, but did he want a dog in the house? “So what am I supposed to do now? He sells nothing. Should I just buy him a dog and surprise him with it?”

“No.” His father laughed. “Your son is determined to work for this dog and you should allow him to do this.”

And that Haytham did. In fact, the next day, while his son was working, Haytham was working too. A few phone calls should suffice, he thought and watched as during the afternoon a few people finally walked up to Connor to buy something from him. Even from afar he could see his son’s face lighten up by the sole prospect of finally coming closer to getting a dog. Haytham however, kept his distance and only waved quickly as Shay looked up to his window, one of the plastic cups with the awful self-made lemonade in hand. He did not answer the greeting, only grinned and took a sip.


	7. Day 7 - One day, perhaps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After AC3

In his youth, Connor had not often thought about becoming a father at one point in his life. Well, he had thought about it of course, but perhaps not as often as other young men would have done. To this day he still fondly remembered the talk he once had with Achilles. The old man had sometimes asked him if there was any young lady Connor fancied, but young Connor always gave the same reply. _I would not be a good husband. I do not have the time to give. One day, perhaps_. As he had been a young man, he had thought his cause of destroying the Templar Order in the colonies and bringing something like peace to the people was the more important thing. Really, he had hardly ever thought about his own needs or at least not as far as relationship wise. Like tunnel vision, he had only seen the goal that he wanted to achieve and nothing to the sides.

And though he had made many friends living close by under the protective wing of the owner of the Davenport Homestead, he had felt terribly lost and alone, after Achilles had passed away and left him in charge of everything.

Life sometimes had a weird way to settle things, he thought as he was standing in the middle of the hallway of his very own home. A house large enough for a big family, a house old enough to tell long forgotten stories and to have its very own phantoms. After Achilles' death he had wasted years not entering the old man's room any longer, but as soon as his wife moved in with him he had finally felt the strength to do it. Oh, as he had tidied up the house with her to make room for their new family he had found many things of which he would have never thought he would get to see. Memories of past Assassins in every corner of the house as it seemed.

He had thrown out many of the old things, but be kept many more.

By now the screams from inside their bedchamber had died off and Connor found himself nervously clutching the balustrade of their staircase after he had finally stopped pacing back and forth. He could hardly remember a day he had been as nervous as he was now. Maybe the day of his wedding, but then again, he had had his friends - especially Myriam - by his side to keep him calm. Oh, how much Myriam had found joy in teasing him on that day, reminding him on her wedding day. He would never forget it, though. Just as he would never forget the day little Hunter had been born on the side of the path right there on the spot under a large tree.

Prudence and Dr. White were with his wife now. He trusted them, but he still was afraid - and if one would ask him, rightly so! In his life, things had the tendency to go horribly wrong and so he always had the worst things that could happen on his mind. He was careful not to talk of those things, of course, after his good friend and fellow Assassin Duncan had once said he would look quite paranoid if he did. Duncan and he shared an odd bond, as he was the only one of his friends who knew his father, no matter how fleetingly. It was weird, and Connor thought it might be because of Duncan's former ties to the church, but to him, it was easy to talk about his father to Duncan, easier than with anyone else. Even with Temperance, he had only rarely talked about his father. A part of him wanted to forget and leave the pain and the memories behind him, now that he was having his own family, but the other part of him was glad he had someone like Duncan to talk to from time to time. Weirdly, especially during the winter months when the snow was piling up outside, he felt the urge to talk about his father.

It was the fourth of December, and almost he had laughed as his wife had told him her water had broken earlier that day. Well, _day_  was a stretch, for it was still dark outside. She had woken him up around midnight and he had only jumped in his pants and boots and threw over his shirt before he ran outside into the snow and straight to the good doctor. Now it was around five in the morning, or at least that was the time when he had last checked.

As the door to his and his wife's bedroom finally opened, it seemed as if he had waited for days already and he was sure that, as soon as the sun would rise, the house would break at its seams because everyone would come to see the newborn. Connor managed to get a quick glimpse of the room , but not of his wife in bed, as Prudence came into his field of vision, a warm smile plastered on her exhausted face and a bundle, wrapped in one of the white blankets Connor had brought up to the room, in her arms. As she stepped towards him it felt as if time would go much slower and he was hardly even able to process the information he got from her.

"It’s a boy." She smiled as she offered him the baby to take, but Connor only blinked and stared at her face as if she had just used a language he had never heard before.  It took a moment for him to understand that she wanted him to hold his son and when he finally got it, he was oddly terrified, but still opened his arms so that Prudence could place the baby boy in them. "I leave you two boys alone now." She snickered before she vanished back into the bedroom and left him out in the hallway. Connor wanted to yell at her that she could not just leave him here like this, but the door had already fell shut as he realized the predicament he was in. He was all alone with a newborn child. With _his_ newborn child. As he stared wide-eyed down at the baby, the little one had his eyes closed still and a patch of dark damp hair that clung to his forehead.

Gently he pulled him a little closer, secured him on his arm as he started to move away from the door a bit. He did not even know why, but he walked into the former gallery room in which he had collected a great deal of paintings over the years. He liked to sit here in silence from time to time and just read or collect his thoughts, but now he slowly ventured inside with his eyes still on his son's face. Years ago he would have never even fathomed that it would come to a point in his life when he would have a son, but now he had and he was horrified by the thought behind it. This little life in his arms needed all the protection he had to offer and Connor was aware of that fact. In the dim light coming from the hallway he felt his eyes drawn to the painting in the back of the room and he could almost feel Haytham's eyes upon him as he stared back.

Maybe he was weak. Achilles probably would have called it sentiment, as he had burned every painting of his targets except this one, but no matter how often Connor wanted to do it, he had not been able to bring himself to it. And now he thought, he wanted to show the painting to his son when he was older and tell him that this was his grandfather. He wondered how things might have turned out if his father had not left his mother. Would Connor have been held by him just the way he was now holding his son? His father would call him naïve if he would have ever heard those thoughts of his silly son. Even now, with thirty years of age and a whole lot more experience on his shoulders, he was still naïve it seemed. Even Temperance would sometimes tease him with this word.

There was a little gurgling sound that drew his attention back to the bundle in his arms and as he looked down his son finally opened his eyes. They were blue like his mother's and Connor found himself grinning just a little, as the baby boy scrunched up his face in a big yawn. "Hey there, little one…" He mumbled, maybe even out of reflex and tucked a little at the blanket around his son to free his face a bit more. As his fingertips brushed his son's cheek he was amazed how soft his skin was. His own fingers were huge against the baby and his calloused hands suddenly seemed not the right tool to use to touch him. As the baby blinked tiredly Connor continued talking because he felt as though his son liked the sound. "I'm afraid we don’t have a name for you yet. You know, your mother is not quite good with deciding things. She wanted to see your little face first, she said." The boy's eyes now were almost focused on his face, but Connor wondered how much of the world this little thing could already see. "How do you like the name Haytham?"


End file.
